


Oxytocin, or Whatever.

by HimeBeat



Series: Chemistry (College AU) [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, First Meetings, Friendship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Professors, Romance, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2018-12-20 10:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11919138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HimeBeat/pseuds/HimeBeat
Summary: Is not like John didn’t know Holmes, well, he didn’t know him know him, nobody really did.But they’d seen each other plenty around campus, enough as for John to reason it shouldn’t be weird to meet for coffee this one time.Except it was weird, weird and awkward and something else John couldn’t quite find in his language, it was just… whatever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a tweet (https://twitter.com/irwinquiffin/status/900040452509847552), and then I basically butchered the concept because this sounds nothing like that original idea, but I tried (thanks for the prompt!) 
> 
> Here's some awkward and and dorky Johnlock:

Is not like John didn’t know Holmes, well, he didn’t _know him know him,_ nobody really did. Bloody bloke wouldn’t talk to anyone unless utterly necessary. But they’d seen each other plenty around campus and at the commons in the faculty, enough as for John to reason it shouldn’t be weird to meet for coffee this one time, they did have that co-lecture coming up, after all.

Except it was weird, weird and awkward and something else John couldn’t quite find in his language, it was just… _whatever_.

They had started working at the university around the same time last semester, Sherlock was the newest addition to the Science department, and not two weeks later, John had joined the Biology branch as an associate professor.

He’d been interested at first, hearing praises about Sherlock Holmes, prodigy child, and one of the youngest chemists England ever saw, already making breaking discoveries in the filed at hardly 27. He’d been admired, if not a little intimated, to meet this so renowned character, and he had every intention of introducing himself, looking forward to some good conversation with a new colleague.

And he would have, had Sherlock not been so… unapproachable.

He had been like that since day one, apparently, never talked, didn’t make much of an introduction, never used the faculty kitchen, or any other shared spaces besides the faculty room at the library and the lab, where he had special hours to conduct his experiments in private. His head was always buried on a book, or he was typing something on his laptop or a notebook, or his phone, he was always _busy._ And John could never find the right window to come up and say hi.

He also had a feeling Sherlock would dismiss him as an idiot if he just approached him to say “hi”,

Sherlock didn’t like to waste time, John could tell that much, and casual conversation seemed to go right into the chemist’s “wasted time” bucket.

By the end of that first semester John had given up on the whole ‘meet Sherlock Holmes’ deal, they’d never been formally introduced and John figured that, after eight months of passing each other without even nodding in acknowledgement, it was a tad bit late for that “hi, I’m John” he’d been wishing for at first.

Which is why he had been completely dumbfounded when Sherlock approached _him_ the previous week, demanding rather than asking for them to meet, in the interest of that joint lecture they had coming up.

“Dr. Watson” he had said, continuing before John could address him “I’d like to go over that criminology lecture we have scheduled for next month, have you got any time next Tuesday, afternoon, perhaps?” John narrowed his eyes, processing the information while trying to take in the _presence_ in front of him, the perfectly imperfect curls and piercing, blue - gray, green? - eyes that bore into him expectant. Sherlock Holmes was _beautiful_. “…well?” Sherlock pressed, looking impatient. _Right about that one_.

John nodded, because he suddenly found himself out of words. Sherlock seemed pleased with the response “very well, then, I shall see you at the cafeteria at 3pm next Tuesday, please do be on time” John nodded again, and just as swiftly as he had arrived, Sherlock turned on his heels and left.

Immediately after John started to panic. Bloody criminology class and its stupid special lectures, he didn’t have the fist idea of what exactly he’d be doing, he’d been assigned to the lecture by chance - and probably because nobody else wanted it and he was still the new lad, bless his luck -, this morning he found out he would be co-lecturing those two special classes with no other but Sherlock Holmes, the Sherlock Holmes.

Well, bless his luck.

He got to work, still without the faintest idea of _what_ exactly he’d be teaching, but not wanting to look like an idiot in front of Sherlock, he researched everything he could, and set up a bit of a list. He would _not_ make a fool of himself in front of Sherlock Holmes.

He wasn’t sure as to why he cared so much. He tried not to think about it. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with those eyes or those ridiculous curls, definitely nothing to do with his white, cream looking skin.

No.

Definitely not.

It was Tuesday already, and John resolved in showing up five minutes _before_ the scheduled time, thinking Sherlock would appreciate the punctuality.

Of course, Sherlock was already there, sitting at a table at the far end of the school cafeteria, not too crowded at this time in the afternoon, he found the chemist with his attention turned into some notes, and he was secretly glad this time he actually had a reason to interrupt the younger man.

“Afternoon, Mr. Holmes” He said, wondering if Sherlock had noticed him at all.

“Ah, Dr. Watson, please do take a sit” Said Sherlock, without turning his gaze from the notes.

“You can call me John, no need to be so formal” At this Sherlock did look up, and John did his best to push away the _whatever_ he was feeling upon having those blue eyes’ undivided attention.

There was an instant _click_ between them.

John was sure a proper scientific term existed, maybe some chemical name of sorts, that Sherlock would know very well. He didn’t care.

“Likewise, then, just Sherlock will do” and then Sherlock did this thing in which his mouth bent up just a bit - a _smile_ , John, they call those things smiles - and hell, yes, but John had never seen a smile on Sherlock’s face before.

It was not helping that _whatever_ feeling go away.

“So… criminology” Started John, trying not make too long a pause, suddenly remembering he’d never shared as much as a nod with the other professor.

“We don’t have to discuss that right away, I’d be pleased to hear more about you, _John_ ” and if there was a lingering note of flirt in Sherlock’s voice, John pretended not to notice.

He did blink, however, this was _not_ how he had expected this meeting to begin.

“There’s not much to know” he admitted, slightly embarrassed “I'm just an associate professor here, your typical short-lived doctor with a small practice behind him” he shrugged, clearly nothing he’d done would stand next to Sherlock’s endless list of accomplishments.

“Oh, you’re selling yourself short, doctor” yes, definitely flirting “I am most curious to learn of how you became a doctor, choosing to save lives instead of taking them in some forsaken war, as it is custom in your family”

John’s surprise was quick to show in his face, _how_ did Sherlock Holmes know about his family?

And why was he _curious?_

“Excuse me, how, how do you…?”

“It’s most obvious, isn’t it, your manners, your standing, your punctuality, it all suggests you were raised in precision, typical of military families. You are polite yet severe with your students, not keen of mediocrity, but understanding upon circumstances, and you’ve chosen to teach instead of using your medical knowledge in research or continuous practice, which suggests you’re resentful of the recognitions those things may bring you, probably due to the bad experiences you’ve had with rankings and your father over the years. Now” Sherlock paused, enjoying John’s face of astonishment “I am only curious to know your motivation to go against your family’s desires so defiantly, you do, after all, care a great deal about other people’s opinions and feelings”

Sherlock’s gaze was expectant, and even though John’s answer was a the tip of his tongue, it was difficult to get the words out.

“My-My sister” he finally said, realizing that was not sufficient information, he decided to tell Sherlock the brief truth “My older sister, she followed blindly behind my father’s career, she was in the field for years, got shot, was dismissed, didn’t come back the same person… - he breath in, he didn’t talk about his sister, or his family in general, definitely not to someone he’d _just met_. But he continued - she’s an alcoholic now” he finished, with the tiniest bit of irony in his voice, trying to lighten the comment.

 _Great going_ , Watson, he thought, way not to make it even more awkward.

But Sherlock didn’t seem put out at all, if anything, his eyes were sparkling with interest.

“Fascinating” he muttered “a case of compensation over a disappointing sibling, yet rebellious because you chose a path different than the one laid out, admirable, John Watson, quite admirable”

John flushed at this. Not used to being admired over anything, specially not by his very personal experiences. That he had so carelessly shared with Sherlock, and _why_ , why did it feel so easy to open up to him, when not ten minutes ago they’d never crossed words?

“What about you, Sherlock?” His name tasted odd in John’s mouth, but he couldn’t say it was a bad taste. “I’ve heard so much about your career, and yet I feel no one knows much about you as person”

“I am not a fan of chitchat” Sherlock answered, simply, but John could feel how he was avoiding details.

Oh, he’d be having none of that. He’d been waiting far too long to get a word with the chemist, and if this was his only chance, he would sure as hell take it.

“Yet, you’ve expressed interest in getting to know me better, I’ve shared something about me, now, if you’d be so kind…” _fine_ , maybe now he was using that flirty tone, too. But it was Sherlock’s own fault for being so… _whatever_.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Not particularly a case of study, I’m simply an overpraised chemist” He said, but John could tell he wasn’t being modest, rather, he was inviting John to inquire more.

Like hell he’d fall for it.

“Oh, I’ve heard about your accomplishments in the field, I was more interested in you as a person, have you got any hobbies?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, suddenly feeling nervous, personal wasn’t something he did. As superficial as his hobbies may be, it was usually not shared information. Then _why_ did he feel so compelled to share them with this Dr. Watson?

“I enjoy solving puzzles” he said, again, too short of an answer for John’s liking. But this time, he did take upon the unspoken invitation.

“What kind of puzzles?”

“The hard kind, of course. I enjoy the thrill of dissolving cases to their core, most answers to tough questions lay in plain sight, people are just too lazy to observe” Now it was John’s turn to be fascinated, the spark in Sherlock’s eyes had nothing but increased when he started talking, and John found himself wanting to keep it there as long as he could.

“Why teach at a university?” It was a completely unrelated question, but call him curious, what on Earth was Sherlock Holmes doing at a dull university when he was clearly better cut to save the world, or something of the kind.

“I’m not fond of the attention” This time, John’s look was enough of an inquiry for Sherlock to continue “all those interviews, and newspaper articles, they’re distracting, I’d rather have a space in which I can experiment in peace, the university has such facilities, and, although I’m not particularly interested in forming the next generation of great chemists” he paused, measuring his words “…I’ve got to admit is quite enjoyable to know the world won’t be full of complete idiots”

John laughed at this, and Sherlock realized he really liked that sound.

He wanted more of it.

“If you’re a fan of puzzles, then I imagine you will find our upcoming lecture particularly interesting” John commented next, jumping topics again, trying to track into what they were originally there to discuss.

“Yes, indeed. I was happy to lean I had been assigned to this lecture” he studied John’s expression, opting for unapologetic honesty “most disappointed to find it wouldn’t be just me teaching it”

“Not a fan of team work?” John said, not particularly offended, it was obvious Sherlock wasn’t great at working with others.

“Been told to “piss off” one too many times” he replied, with the hint of a smile. John laughed again, quietly, with his eyes.

And Sherlock really liked that laugh.

Albeit he’d been upset to know it wouldn’t be just his lecture, Sherlock was secretly glad to know he’d be co-teaching it with one Dr. John Watson.

Really, anyone would have sufficed to the purpose of co-lecturing, anyone but Anderson, that is, Anderson wouldn’t work with him (God, he hated Anderson); But when he read John Watson on his class summary he found himself suddenly more interested in the idea of sharing the class.

There was something about Dr. Watson, something Sherlock couldn’t quite place. He’d observed him since the day he arrived. Military upbringing, obviously. Polite, a natural flirt, but not much luck in the relationship department, probably because of the trust issues he had with his family. He would observe Dr. Watson at the library commons, never as absorbed in his readings as he seemed.

 _Rebellious_ , is what caught Sherlock’s attention, clearly someone interested in trouble, a chase, excitement of any kind, an adrenaline junkie, much like himself. He didn’t know of John was aware of this trait of his, but he found himself curious, wanting to learn more about this good doctor.

How convenient it’d be to have this lecture together.

Another thing he’d noticed about John, _decidedly not straight_.

And oh, how convenient, indeed.

“I’m afraid my knowledge in forensics is limited, but I’ve put some thoughts together this last week, and I’d happy to assist you on the lecture, if that sounds attractive to you” offered John, he wasn’t crazy about this class, and, as he’d just learned that Sherlock was, the least he could do was to voluntarily step aside and offer some help from the shadows.

“Oh, no, no, once again, you’re selling yourself short” argued the chemist “I believe there's much you could bring to this lecture, we must only structure it in a way that is engaging enough, more than just your medical knowledge, your background in a military family will provide great insights when discussing what to look for in a scene, as well as what to do when plans go sideways…”

Sherlock carried on, and, as John expected, he already had a clear idea of what he wanted this lecture to be about, he’d been surprised, however, to find out Sherlock had thought of him and his potential aport every step of the way, describing how their joint knowledge should make of this an interesting lecture, he talked with ease about the details of the applied chemistry he wanted to use, and he wasn’t shy to ask John about medical or scientific information he wasn’t sure of.

John couldn’t think of a reason why someone wouldn’t enjoy working with Sherlock, they’d been discussing this lecture for over an hour now, and the doctor was nothing short of entranced in conversation with the chemist. If anything, he felt a bit of regret for not having approached the younger man sooner.

Then again, this one time the circumstances had played out well.

It was nearly 7p.m. when John thought of checking the time, noticing how most of the students had left the cafeteria, and the staff was already packing up the leftovers of the day. He didn’t have a place to be next, but he hadn’t thought his meeting with Sherlock would run this long. Specially since they’d spent the last 40 minutes discussing crime novels - a newfound shared interest - instead of planning the lecture.

Actually, they’d been done with their outline for the lecture for quite a while now. And neither him nor Sherlock seemed to mind staying _just a little longer._ He wanted to make Sherlock smile again, he’d accomplished nearly ten smiles in the course of the afternoon, and one or two suggestive looks, if he dared to say.

At this point, John had stopped fighting with that _whatever_  sensation, surrendering completely to the idea that he might, _possibly_ be a tiny bit infatuated by one Sherlock Holmes.

Their bubble of pleasant conversation burst when Sherlock’s phone began to ring impertinently, the chemist rejected the call the first couple of times, and sighed when his phone buzzed a third one.

“Your girlfriend, wondering why you are not home?” Joked John, quietly hoping to be wrong. 

“No” Sherlock drew “girls are not really my area”

His eyes were fixed on the phone, and he missed the spark his answer lit in John’s eyes. He also missed the way the doctor’s tongue slipped out of his mouth to lick his lips.

Sherlock frowned down at his phone, and resolved on picking up “If you’ll excuse me…” John nodded, more interested in whom exactly was at the other side of the line “What is it that you want, Mycroft? Please do be brief, I'm in a meeting…”

John couldn’t help but question the nature of this meeting, was it still a meeting? They’d discussed the lecture for a little over an hour that afternoon, yet they’d been there for nearly four hours already, just talking, sharing, laughing, if John were to judge, by experience, this felt more like a date than a work meeting.

But that couldn’t be right, was it? He’d know if he’d been on a date with Sherlock Holmes.

_Well, would he?_

They’d flirted, he knew that much, and there was that undeniable _whatever_ going on between them, a something he couldn’t name, that he couldn’t find in the back of his mind, but it was there, and, given what he’d learned from Sherlock, he wouldn’t have stayed this long if he hadn’t felt it - and enjoyed it - too.

But what did it mean?

Sherlock’s tired sighed snapped him out of his wondering.

“…if there’s nothing else to be done… yes, I understand, let them know I will be there… for God’s sake, Mycroft, yes, yes, goodbye now” he hung up before whoever was on the other side had the chance to reply.

John chuckled, Sherlock’s impatience was amusing when not directed at him. But this was interesting, too, Sherlock had been nothing but polite and collected all afternoon, to whom, then, would he be so unapologetically rude?

Girls weren’t his area, he said, but that didn’t rule out the possibility of a _male_ partner. One with whom he was comfortable enough as to bicker. John wondered how long it’d take to get that comfortable with Sherlock.

“…Apologies, my brother can be most inconvenient with his phone calls at times”

John let out a breath of relief he didn’t know he was holding.

“Your brother” he blinked “that was your brother?”

“Obviously, as I just said” Sherlock frowned, wondering if John wasn’t as sharp as he had believed him to be. “It seems I’ll be attending a family dinner this evening” he didn’t try to hide the annoyance in his voice, and he suddenly felt heavy on his chair, briefly noticing he hadn’t really moved from his position in almost four hours.

“Oh, right, I see…” John said, finding only monosyllables in his vocabulary, he coughed, in an attempt to clear his mind, and stop looking so bloody idiotic. “That means you’ll be going soon, then”

“Much sooner than desired, I’m afraid” John smiled at this, because, over the course of the afternoon he’d learned that Sherlock was nothing short of charming, and even nice, if you could keep up with a bit - _a lot_ \- of sass and sarcasm.

John found that he could, actually, he liked it.

There was a warmness in Sherlock, something kind that the young chemist didn’t quite let on at fist. It made John feel a slight bit special to think he’d earned it.

Whoever Mycroft was, damn him for ending this… meeting, of sorts. “Ah, family” Sherlock said “what a funny thing it can be” John wouldn’t know, he hadn’t talked to his in ages, with proper reason “I am not keen of these events, but my mother can be so convincing…” John got the hint of a joke, Sherlock sighed again. “Thank you, Dr. Watson, I’ve got to say, this has been quite an enjoyable time, and I’m really looking forward to our joint lecture next month” he shifted in his seat, as he started to pick up his things.

 _Shit._ Think, Watson, think. That lecture was not until three weeks from now, and John was _not_ going to wait that long for the his next chance to talk to this man, heck, he didn’t even want to wait a day. He reasoned now he could maybe say “hi” to him in the hallways, or nod in acknowledgment, at the very least.

But that wouldn’t be enough, not now that he’d gotten a taste of how delightful Sherlock Holmes could actually be. No, he wanted this, he wanted more coffee afternoons, more… _meetings_ , he wanted more of that _whatever_ feeling he’d had since he first laid eyes on the chemist.

“It’s been a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Holmes” he retorted with his last name, bringing back that hint of flirt they’d used earlier. “I presume I’ll see you around campus?” Sherlock nodded, doing his best to hide the disappointment at John’s sudden indifferent air. “I'd also hope we could meet like this again” John added, and Sherlock’s head tilted sideways, his eyes narrowing with interest.

John Watson certainly knew how to make him interested.

“Is there anything else about our lecture that you’d like to discuss?” He asked, cautious, trying not read _too much_ in between the lines, not to get his hopes up. That usually didn’t end well.

“No” John answered, with a fond smile. And Sherlock scolded himself internally, because, yes, his hopes were definitely up now “I’m quite clear with the lecture topics. I'd just like to have coffee with you again, if that’s something you’d like…?”

“Yes” Sherlock answered, a bit _too_ quickly, too eager. _Way not to look desperate._

And fuck it, he’d take whatever he could get from Dr. John Watson. No matter how vain, however simple and work related. He wasn’t good at feelings or sentiment, but he understood the chemistry behind his thought process. And he was quite clear that all the oxytocin generated over the last three hours was to blame on one good blue eyed doctor sitting across him.

“Wonderful” said John, more confidently this time “Friday, perhaps? I believe our schedules coincide that day” he was certain, actually, but Sherlock didn’t have to know that “same time?” Sherlock nodded, trying to decipher whether they were meeting as colleagues, friends, or… _whatever_ else. “We can meet at the library commons and take it from there, I know a good place near campus” Sherlock nodded again. And John’s grin only widened at the thought of leaving the great Sherlock Holmes speechless.

Oh, he was feeling smug, all right. But he didn’t quite want to let Sherlock go without making his intentions clear.

“It’s a date, then” he said, and even though Sherlock was the one in haste to leave, he’d made no effort to move after standing up, right before John dropped that last comment “I won’t keep you” said the doctor, amused “You do have that dinner to attend”

 _Fuck you, Mycroft._ Sherlock thought, simultaneously, he wondered if any of this last exchange would have happened had that phone call not occurred.

He didn’t have much time to ponder, their meeting was as good as done now. And he _did_ have to go.

“I, um, I’ll see you on Friday, then, John” he said, grimacing at how dry his mouth felt all of a sudden. He cursed his reactions once again.

“Looking forward to it, _Sherlock_ ” the chemist nodded once last time and turned around, quick on his feet to get out of the cafeteria. Whether he wanted to make it to dinner on time, or simply wanted to get our of there, John could not know. He didn’t care.

 _Oxytocin_. It finally hit him. like a bunch of bloody butterflies exploding at his core.

The hormone that was released through a pleasant interaction with someone else, through social bonding, eye contact, interest, everything he’d shared with Sherlock that afternoon. And heck, it’d been a while since he’d felt _that good_.

He wanted more. He wanted Sherlock to feel it, as well. And he was sure he had felt the same chemistry between them, that he wanted more as well.

He was going to make sure they both got a lot more of it in the future.


	2. Lay Down, Sally...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John was nervous, because he didn't know what the future held on this new relationship of sorts, he was scared of, yet again, messing it up. But Sherlock didn’t care, Sherlock was eager to learn things from scratch, to ask questions no one had ever asked John - definitely not so soon - and to do things no one had done before - again, perhaps a bit too soon - but John couldn’t said he mined this either, because it was honest, and loving, and unapologetic... 
> 
>    
> College AU! With professors Holmes and Watson, featuring a sleep deprived Sherlock and a caring Dr. Watson - while they explore some insecurities and sides of their newly founded relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there again, thanks for giving this whatever story another chance, if anything, this is fluff for the sake of fluff and for the sake of having some transition into some more *ahem* adventurous chapters that I will try to make happen in the future. overall this should be a story full of snippets and not follow a too crazy lineal structure - but feedback, prompts, comments are always super welcome; hopefully not too crazy ooc and hopefully worth your read, thank you!

In the end, their co-taught lecture had been so successful, the students were requesting them to teach the class instead of their usual professor. 

Professor Donovan hadn’t been impressed. And John initially declined, arguing he had enough work as it was with his existent classes. 

 

But then Sherlock had given him _that_ look, and asked, with that little voice that just _did it_ for the doctor 

_“John_ ” he’d said “it’s not fun unless we teach together, please?” 

 

The pleading tone was one thing he could have resisted, had he tried hard enough, but add that to the fact that Sherlock said it as he straddled John’s hips, and kissed behind his ear _just so._ Well, John’s conviction was only so strong. 

 

They’d decided that as of next term, John and Sherlock would have their own criminology class, and Sally Donovan could take over one of John’s biology courses. The term was only five weeks away from ending, anyways, which should give them enough time to prepare a whole course. 

 

Sherlock was ecstatic, and he seemed completely indifferent to the fact that his workload had tripled, he had loved giving that lecture, John could see in his eyes, the excitement in his voice when he explained the methods and the logic behind the crimes they were studying. 

 

Puzzles. It was the same glow John had seen in Sherlock’s eyes seven weeks before when they first met, when the chemist mentioned his hobby for puzzles. 

And Sherlock loved chemistry, John was certain, he’d never seen anyone else enjoy staring at a microscope for hours like his boyfriend did. But he was also sure that Sherlock’s true passion laid in crime solving. 

 

He knew that, had Sherlock chosen to be a detective, or something of the kind, he would have been a very successful one. 

 

“I don’t like the attention” he’d replied, when John voiced his wondering at him. 

And yes, that’s what he’d said the other time as well, when John asked him _why_ he’d chosen to teach at university. But he wondered if there was any other reason behind it. 

 

Well, he certainly liked _John’s_ attention. 

He craved it, in fact, as he had just admitted a few nights ago. 

 

Things had escalated quickly after that time at the coffee house, once they were both clear in their attraction to each other - and John still blamed himself for being so _dense_ with that - they’d decided to let things flow on their own, the chemistry was there, and it was just right, John enjoyed making 

Sherlock smile, they had enough things in common as to share but were different enough as to keep each other interested, it was new and tentative and _easy._ And John really, really liked it. 

 

Sherlock did, too, if the way he’d snogged John senseless after their first real date was anything to go by (not a coffee date, mind you). 

And no one told John that letting things run naturally would mean they’d be spending _nights_ together not even a week after that first kiss. Not that John could complain. If anything, he was grateful. 

 

He knew he was Sherlock’s fist real relationship and, with an unhealthy list of failed relationships behind him, John was a slight bit insecure of how well they’d manage this new ordeal. They were both on square one. 

 

Except Sherlock didn’t care, Sherlock was eager to learn things from scratch, to ask questions no one had ever asked John - definitely not so soon - and to _do_ things no one had done before - again, perhaps a bit _too soon -_ but John couldn’t said he mined this either, because it was _honest,_ and loving, and unapologetic, and, at 30, John was feeling ready to try all of that. 

 

He got a thrill out of simply holding hands with Sherlock. That _whatever_ sensation, the mixture of oxytocin and dopamine and crazy endorphins that released in his system every time he was with Sherlock, that feeling was getting closer and closer to a name as the days went by, easy, without pretension of any kind. 

 

It was Tuesday, and God, John had learned to love Tuesdays, early enough in the week, bit too early to get anxious about the weekend. But pleasant, because on Tuesdays, both of them had enough time to sit at the cafeteria until they got kicked out, or until John got hungry, and then insisted they went somewhere else to get some food, or just go to one of their apartments and get some take out. 

 

They'd been doing a lot more take out these days. 

 

For one, he arrived before Sherlock to the cafeteria, and he would've been surprised, except he knew Sherlock had been working on a new formula, something to do with his research on ballistics and gunpowder, he’d been spending every minute of his lab hours on it, and any minute he had to spare making notes for it. He was consumed. 

 

John had never seen Sherlock absorbed on work like this, he wouldn’t eat (digestion slows down though processing) and he wouldn’t do more than two hours of sleep every 48hrs (ninety minutes is more than necessary, everything above that is just being lazy). 

 

The good doctor in him was having none of it. He was practically forcing the younger man to eat, at least one decent sized meal a day. And he was making sure to tire Sherlock enough he wouldn’t argue a longish nap every other night. 

Not long ago, John had wondered how long it usually took for Sherlock to be comfortable enough to bicker and argue, the answer was _not long enough._ Especially when it came to sleeping, or eating, or anything that involved caring for himself. He didn’t know how Sherlock survived all those years before he came along, he didn’t want to think about it. 

 

However busy and focused, Sherlock had reassured John he wouldn’t miss on meeting him at least once a week for coffee, he was fixated on their coffee dates, they were sacrosanct, and he’d been slightly offended when John mentioned they could spare them while his research was at its peak. 

 

“Nonsense, I will not put my work over my relationship with you, that’d be utterly disrespectful, besides, even I can use a break from time to time” 

 

And so, it’d been the better part of four days since he last saw Sherlock, and he hadn’t pushed because, well, because he _could go_ four days without seeing Sherlock. 

 

He just wouldn’t if he didn’t have to. 

 

He ordered for both of them and sat on their usual table, and just as the clock on the wall was edging  3pm, a mass or curls and long limbs unceremoniously flopped on the chair across from him. 

 

“Why, hello, you look exhausted” he greeted, with a note of reproach in his voice. He knew Sherlock was working and he was trying his best not to intervene, but it did pain him to know Sherlock wasn’t taking enough care of himself. 

 

“Irrelevant” was the tired reply. He was, in fact, exhausted, but he smiled nonetheless at the sight of John, and silently thanked him for the coffee with a gesture. “Did you talk to Lestrade? Have we gotten confirmation for the criminology class?” 

“Right, yes, he’s said we could start working on a class structure, pass it by him later this month” 

Sherlock nodded, already looking forward to that next project, it had been _so much fun_ to teach a class on crime, and to apply all that otherwise dull chemistry knowledge he had. 

 

Having John next to him was the cherry on the top. Sherlock fancied himself a great lecturer, he’d get into character and keep a relatively successful level of engagement.

 

But John, _oh,_ John was entrancing. 

 

He wouldn’t admit it, of course, just as he wouldn’t admit to be good at pretty much anything else. But he was a charm when in class, rhetoric, resourceful, and, much to Sherlock’s amusement, attractive enough to have a couple of the female students sighing during the class. 

Not that Sherlock minded, he was confident enough that he was the only receptor of John’s attentions. 

 

“Sussex” was the next thing Sherlock said, completely unrelated to the question John had just made about his research. 

 

“Su… what?” His boyfriend looked puzzled, and Sherlock was reminded that, in a relationship, it pays off to mind attention sometimes. “What has Sussex got to do with anything?” 

 

“Mycroft” John sighed, this conversation was starting to feel cryptical. 

 

“I’m gonna need you to try harder than that, love” Sherlock smiled at the endearment, recently discovering how much he liked it. 

 

“Mycroft has called this morning, much to my dismay, and informed me that our parents have been terminal we go to Sussex this weekend, to their old cabin, they argue we need time away from the city, and that we are in much need of, I quote, “quality time with the family”, unquote” John nodded, pulling the information together. “I’d like for you to join me” he added. 

 

“Me?” 

 

“I can hardly think of anyone else who could make such trip bearable” 

 

“I… right, but, you want me to meet your family?” 

 

“Well, yes, we would be spending time with them, is that an issue? You’ve already met Mycroft” 

 

He'd _seen_ Mycroft, from afar, when the older Holmes not-so-subtly spied them on a date, about two weeks ago. Never talked to him, though. And meeting all of Sherlock’s family sounded, well, important, it sounded serious. 

 

Too serious? Perhaps not, John was sure serious is where their relationship was going, serious is something he _wanted_ with Sherlock.

 

Too soon? Well, they were only a month and a bit into this relationship of sorts, but they were certainly comfortable with each other already, and if they hadn’t waited to do most of the things you usually wait for, why should “meeting the parents” serve any different? 

 

He realized it didn’t, not really.

 

“John? If you’re uncertain, I wouldn’t want to pressure you…” he heard Sherlock say, with a hint of disappointment peeking thru. 

And no, no. He hated to make Sherlock feel that way. 

 

He reached out and intertwined his fingers with Sherlock’s over the table, which had become a favorite habit of his, and also a way of reassuring his boyfriend whenever he found him in distress. 

 

“I’d love to join you for your family weekend in Sussex” he said, smiling, a smile Sherlock reciprocated, before raising an eyebrow. 

“Are you sure, though? I mean, it’ll be a drag all around, that cabin is awfully cold at night, and we would be spending nearly 72hrs surrounded by Mycroft and my parents, is not a mission for the faint of heart” 

John laughed, and squeezed Sherlock’s hand affectionately. 

 

“The way I see it, I get to see embarrassing pictures of you from old photo albums, and I’m sure we can think on a way of two to keep from the cold” he winked, enjoying the pink flush that covered the chemist's cheeks at the comment. “How will you, em, will your parents with ok, with me coming along?”

 

_With us_? He wanted to ask, were they ok with Sherlock dating an unaccomplished doctor? When it was obvious he could do a thousand times better. Sherlock had mention how, on more than one occasion, his insistent mother and brother had tried to introduce him to some other recognized scientists and members of the upper-scale circle, people that would ‘fit’ Sherlock’s ideal partner.

 

John wasn’t famous, nor rich.

But Sherlock didn’t want famous, nor rich.

He wanted John. 

Wonderful, fun, caring John. 

 

“They’d better be, it’ll be the first time I introduce them to anyone but, they’ve been so insistent on me finding a partner, I can’t see why they’d be upset if I’m finally bringing someone I care about” 

 

His self-loathing ended right there, because _of course_ Sherlock would say something like that without a second thought. Bloody bloke had no filter, he’d say the most thoughtful things without even realizing, he didn’t think they were cheese or awfully sentimental. It’s just what was on his mind at the moment. 

 

The conversation carried on, as it usually did, to new puzzles or criminal cases that Sherlock enjoyed discussing with his doctor. He didn’t talk about his research and John didn’t ask, figuring that Sherlock hadn’t mentioned it on purpose.  He was happy with acting as Sherlock’s break from whatever crazy thoughts he was having in his never-stopping mind. 

 

“Will you be coming over tonight?” Sherlock asked, a little past 6pm. 

 

“Will _you_ be coming over tonight?” Was John’s retort, he’d been staying at Sherlock’s apartment the better part of the last week - his flat was closer to campus, not to mention it was much nicer than John’s own, if not a lot more chaotic - but the chemist had hardly been there at all, spending every possible minute at the lab. 

 

“Maybe…” He wouldn’t admit to it, but Sherlock was ready to pass out in whatever surface available for at least twelve hours. 

He’d rather have that surface be John Watson. 

 

But now that ridiculous family adventure was happening and it would mean a lot of wasted time and he knew he should just stay at the lab that day and get as much out of his work as he could. 

 

The thing is, he didn’t _want to,_ he wanted to go back to his flat in Baker St. and indulge in a night of sin with Chinese takeaway and a - hopefully - naked doctor. 

He briefly reflected on this new interest of his, and he would have reproached how choosing carnal pleasures over work was _not_ a good idea and completely against everything he’d been so far in his life.

But he couldn’t even do that because he really didn’t care. 

It was the first time in his life he enjoyed someone else’s company this much, he was in a _relationship,_ for crying out loud, and it was new and scary and fantastic and not the kind of thing he ever thought he’d be able to enjoy. 

 

Granted, he was aware of himself, he knew that being a smart, posh raised man he’d have plenty of opportunities for mindless sex and company whenever he really wanted it. And he had fallen for some of these mundane pleasures early on, when his career had just taken off and there was so much frenesí around him, and so much pressure from his family. But those whatever bodies never meant anything, and they’d become boring after a few days, and they never interrupted his thought process because he didn’t _care._

 

Then this unassuming, simple looking doctor had waltzed into his life, and became the only thing he’d think about for days end. After that first time they’d really met - hardly two months ago - Sherlock knew he would end up having real feelings this time. 

And that would have been a problem, but after the air had cleared out and they were sure to be standing on the same page, it had been nothing short of fantastic and beautiful and Sherlock felt moronic for being so sentimental, but he didn't feel like fighting the hormones acting over his body. 

Never before had he felt endorphins and dopamine release like this, he didn’t think he’d like it this much. 

It was _addicting,_ and Sherlock had a bit of an addictive personality. 

John Watson, he reasoned, was probably the healthiest addiction he could hope for. 

 

“I wouldn’t mind coming home tonight, I could use a nap” 

 

“I could help with that” John offered immediately, he liked where this was going. 

 

“I’m counting on it, doctor” Sherlock tried to tease, but a rather adorable yawn cut him halfway, and John 

took that as his cue to drag them out of there and back to Sherlock’s flat in Baker St., promising a nice dinner, a film, and some non committing snogging on the couch, assuming Sherlock wouldn’t have the energy for much else. 

 

In the end, the chemist fell asleep halfway through the film, and they never made it further than the couple of chaste kisses shared during dinner, but John didn’t mind, he was happy to feel Sherlock’s now familiar weight snoozing on his shoulder, he was also glad he’d gotten some food into that lanky body of his, and that he’d be getting _some_ sleep for the first time in days. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part on my admittedly sad attempt to return to FF with an odd Johnlock AU, abusing a headcanon I found on TW, comments and kudos are appreciated though not mandatory. 
> 
> Title comes from the fact that I could not think of anything, and I've been listening to a lot of Clapton lately <3  
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Might turn this into a series, university AU does sound like a hell of a setting for these two, and I'm slowly but surely writing my way back into FF. thank you @irwinquiffin on TW, for that thread, hope you won't mind I use some of the other prompts. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are nice, but not mandatory, I just hope this was worth your read, thanks for tuning in! (:


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